Love Story
“Love means never having to say you're sorry.” A Harvard hockey player and a Radcliffe musician — the weepie that defined a generation, shot in the Yard.
Before you ever visit, you’ve met Boston somewhere — a bench in the Public Garden, a bar where everybody knows your name, an eighth-inning singalong at Fenway, a monkey named George who, it turns out, is from Cambridge. Here is the city as the screen, the radio and the page gave it to you — 69 of them, tied to the real places they happened. The easiest way in.
“Love means never having to say you're sorry.” A Harvard hockey player and a Radcliffe musician — the weepie that defined a generation, shot in the Yard.
Robert Mitchum as a small-time Boston gunrunner — the granddaddy of the city's crime films, gray and cold and perfect.
Paul Newman as a washed-up Boston lawyer chasing one last case — a courthouse classic shot in the city's old legal heart.
The 54th Massachusetts — the Black regiment whose memorial stands across from the State House. The bronze is real; you can visit the men it honors.
“It's not your fault.” The bench where Sean and Will sit is in the Public Garden — written by two local kids, Affleck and Damon, who grew up a few streets apart in Cambridge.
Three boyhood friends, one neighborhood, the long shadow of a single afternoon — Lehane's Boston at its most haunted, and two Oscars for it.
Scorsese's Boston of moles and mobsters won Best Picture — scored, unforgettably, to the Dropkick Murphys' “I'm Shipping Up to Boston.”
Dennis Lehane's Dorchester, cast with real neighborhood faces — a missing-child story that argues about what loyalty to a place really costs.
The true-ish story of the MIT students who counted cards and took Vegas for millions — genius applied to blackjack.
A heist and a love story under the Bunker Hill Monument — Affleck's ode to the one square mile that once produced more bank robbers than anywhere in America.
Micky Ward and his brother Dicky, out of working-class Lowell — two Oscars, and the most Massachusetts boxing movie ever made.
It opens in a bar near Harvard Yard and ends with a company that ate the world. The dorm where it began is a short walk away.
Lehane again, Scorsese again — a 1950s asylum on an island in the harbor you can actually take a ferry to.
A foul-mouthed teddy bear with the thickest Boston accent ever committed to film — MacFarlane's love letter to the city he's from.
The Best Picture about the Globe reporters who broke the Catholic Church abuse story — journalism as civic duty, told block by Boston block.
Johnny Depp as Whitey Bulger — the FBI informant who ran Southie for two decades while the Bureau looked away.
The 2013 Marathon bombing and the manhunt that followed — and the moment a wounded city decided it would not be cowed.
Grief in a small North Shore town, in winter — Casey Affleck's Oscar, and the most quietly devastating film New England has produced.
Louisa May Alcott's March sisters, shot where she wrote them — Concord and the towns around it, in every season.
A whodunit in a New England mansion, with Daniel Craig's gloriously bad Southern accent and a very Massachusetts sense of inherited money.
A fishing family on the North Shore and the hearing daughter who sings — the first film with a deaf lead cast to win Best Picture.
“Where everybody knows your name.” The bar at 84 Beacon Street — the Bull & Finch Pub — became the most famous tavern in television.
The gritty Boston hospital drama that rewrote what television could do — and ended with the most argued-about finale in the medium's history.
Robert B. Parker's Boston private eye, on location all over the city — the show that taught a generation what the Back Bay looked like.
The doctor left the Boston bar for Seattle radio — and the spinoff won more Emmys than almost any comedy in history.
The dancing baby, the unisex bathroom, and a Boston law firm that put the city on every TV in the '90s.
James Spader and William Shatner as the city's most theatrical lawyers — David E. Kelley's Boston, all balconies and closing arguments.
A fictional Harvard lab, parallel universes, and a very Boston kind of mad science — five seasons of the city as the edge of the possible.
A Boston homicide detective and the medical examiner who's her best friend — Tess Gerritsen's crime novels, made for television.
Frankie Shaw's single mother scraping by in Southie — a rare look at the neighborhood from the kitchen table, not the bar.
Affleck and Damon's portrait of corrupt, cold-war-era Boston — the “Boston miracle” of the '90s, told from the gutter up.
A suburban Massachusetts family torn apart when the son is accused of murder — quiet, affluent, and quietly terrifying.
Julia Child taught America to cook from a Cambridge kitchen and a Boston public-TV studio — and this series brings both back to life.
The protest song about a fare hike that trapped poor Charlie underground forever — and the reason Boston's transit card is the CharlieCard.
“Down by the banks of the River Charles…” Blasted after every Bruins and Red Sox win — a love song to a river that wasn't always clean.
“So good! So good! So good!” In the middle of the eighth inning at Fenway, 37,000 strangers become one chorus. There is no more Boston sound.
Jonathan Richman singing about the Stop & Shop with the radio on — perennially proposed as the official rock song of Massachusetts.
Aerosmith formed in an apartment at 1325 Commonwealth Ave — Steven Tyler's first ballad, written before anyone was listening.
“Please come to Boston for the springtime…” A wanderer's plea that made the city sound like the place you'd give anything to be.
Tom Scholz built the sound in a Watertown basement on gear he engineered himself — an MIT grad who made one of rock's biggest debuts alone.
The Cars came up through the Rat in Kenmore Square — new wave, engineered to perfection, straight out of the Boston club scene.
“Na na na na…” The J. Geils Band were Boston's own bar-band kings before they topped the world charts.
Tracy Chapman busked in Harvard Square while studying at Tufts. The song she wrote there has outlived nearly everything around it.
Five kids from Dorchester became the biggest boy band on earth — boy-band pop was, briefly, a Boston export.
A Malden band's acoustic ballad that went to number one — proof Boston rock could be tender when it wanted to.
Woody Guthrie's lost lyrics, Celtic-punk fury, and a city's working heart — the sound of Boston walking out to a fight it intends to win.
Hester Prynne on the scaffold in Puritan Boston — Hawthorne's reckoning with the city's founding severity, and American literature's first great novel.
Two years in a cabin by a pond outside Concord became the founding text of American environmentalism. The pond is still there, still swimmable.
Written at Orchard House in Concord, where you can still stand in the room — the March sisters were Alcott's own family, barely disguised.
Mrs. Mallard and her eight ducklings cross to the Public Garden lagoon — and the bronze statues of them are the most-hugged in the city.
The Reys fled Paris by bicycle with the manuscript and settled in Cambridge. The most curious monkey in literature is, by adoption, a local.
A silversmith's apprentice swept into the Revolution — the novel that taught generations of American children what 1775 felt like from the street.
Forty books of a wisecracking Boston PI who quotes poetry and orders at the Bristol Lounge — Parker mapped the city one case at a time.
A thousand pages set in a near-future Boston of tennis academies and halfway houses — the most ambitious novel the city has ever hosted.
The world's oldest annual marathon, run every Patriots' Day since 1897 — up Heartbreak Hill and down Boylston, where a million people line the curb.
Orr scores the Cup-winner and is tripped into the air, arms out, parallel to the ice. The most famous photograph in hockey is a Boston photograph.
Game 6 of the '75 Series, past midnight: Fisk hits it down the line and waves with both arms, willing it fair. It stayed fair. So did the image, forever.
Larry Bird and the parquet floor of the old Garden — three titles, a rivalry with Magic that saved the NBA, and the hick from French Lick made Boston royalty.
Doug Flutie's last-second bomb to beat Miami — the “Flutie Effect” that made Boston College a household name and a generation of applicants.
Down 0–3 to the Yankees, the Red Sox won eight straight and a first title in 86 years. Grown adults wept in the street. Some still do.
Days after the Marathon bombing, Ortiz took the Fenway mic and said the unprintable, unforgettable thing. The city exhaled, and went on.
She taught America to cook from a Cambridge kitchen so beloved the Smithsonian moved the whole room to Washington. Bon appétit, from Massachusetts.
Spock was born in Boston's West End, the son of immigrants, and shined shoes on the streets there. The most logical man in the galaxy is a Boston kid.
Before she ruled the disco era, LaDonna Gaines sang in church in Boston. The Queen of Disco grew up here.
Brookline kid, Harvard Lampoon president, late-night institution — the tallest, palest export of Greater Boston comedy.
Two kids from the same Cambridge streets who wrote themselves an Oscar with Good Will Hunting — and keep coming home to film the city.
“The Bad Boys from Boston” formed in a cramped apartment on Comm Ave and became the best-selling American hard-rock band in history.
From Marky Mark and the Funky Bunch to Oscar nominee — the youngest of nine kids from Dorchester who became one of Boston's most relentless ambassadors.
Bobby Brown, Bobby Brown, Ralph Tresvant and the rest came up in the Orchard Park projects of Roxbury — the blueprint for every boy band that followed.
The city on screen is only the beginning. Walk the Innovation Trail →